


pick it up, pick it all up

by Atalto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Artistic License - Poisons, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Happy Birthday Softy!!!1, Hurt/Comfort, It's V Light Tho, Kidnapping, Langst, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Morse Code, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Romance, They forcibly dive into his memories of voltron, Torture, Trope: Rendered Mute, i guess??, use of text-to-speech programmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 14:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto
Summary: There's a grumble from behind the alien, and Lance strains to look behind; there's two similar looking guards standing behind him, flanking the door to what Lance realises is his incredibly sleek looking cell. It's a weird juxtaposition, of smelly, drooling minotaurs standing in platinum white armour, armed to the nines with laser rifles and holographic swords. Not a sight he ever expected, at least.(Or: Lance gets kidnapped and tortured by unknown aliens. Hunk deals with the aftermath)





	pick it up, pick it all up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BritishWinterDork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritishWinterDork/gifts).

> Whaddup squad
> 
> This is a (very late) birthday present for my dear friend Softy!!!! I hope u enjoy this my dear - you mentioned u wanted to see Lance with the 'Rendered Mute' trope from my bingo card, so here we go!!!! I hope this is okay for u ;-;
> 
> As always, anything wrong with this, please shout! I've done my research so it should be okay, but if I've done smth wrong please shout.
> 
> Thank y'all for reading, and I hope u enjoy!

When he wakes up, he's alone.

It's a weird thing to be, alone, after what feels like years of being attached at the hip to his friends. There's no blaring alarm, no screeching metal on metal as Galra ships desperately attack the castle; there's not even the familiar hum of machinery as it whirrs away in the background. After so long complaining about the constant noise, the lack of it is disconcerting, a first hint that maybe something isn't right here.

One by one, sensations return to him. The numbness in his legs gives way to an ache that he used to get from standing in the field too long as a kid, a burn in his calves and feet that made him nearly cry to sit down. His arms remain numb, but he can tell they've above him, suspended by something that he can't make out. Whatever it is, it _hurts_ \- how long has he been here-?

There's a light behind his eyelids, bright and painful, and he really doesn't want to open his eyes. He's been here long enough, judging by the state of his body - what's a little bit longer?

"He's awake," someone - some_thing _\- hisses suddenly, and the light behind his eyelids _blares_, "why isn't he responding?"

And Lance grins.

"You gotta' give a guy a second," he replies easily, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for opening them, and takes a deep breath as his hearing is suddenly overwhelmed by the slamming of his heart in his ears, "you don't think someone this beautiful doesn't need to take his sweet time?"

There's no laughter from the other side of the room - Space? Cell? - as Lance feels his grin begin to fade. Instead, there's footsteps, heavy and clomping, and each one seems to get closer.

"Open your eyes," a different, gruffer voice growls, and there's hot, wet breath on his face, "now."

"Alright, alright, no need to complain," Lance says with a smirk, but there's something dark in this alien, something that's making him _extremely _unsettled - that might just be the fact that he's hanging from a wall by his wrists though.

The alien pants again, and Lance's eyes fly open.

He's greeted by a mouth that is so large it takes up his whole field of view, and he wants to cringe at the sight; this _thing _reminds him of the minotaurs in his sister's picture books, snot-covered snout and rotting teeth so close he can smell the rancidity of it's body.

"Hey there big guy," he laughs, and the Minotaur huffs again. _You can do this_, he thinks, _you're a paladin of Voltron, just be thankful he's not Galra._

_Just because he's not Galra, doesn't mean he's not out for your blood._

This room suddenly feels very cold.

There's a grumble from behind the alien, and Lance strains to look behind; there's two similar looking guards standing behind him, flanking the door to what Lance realises is his incredibly sleek looking cell. It's a weird juxtaposition, of smelly, drooling minotaurs standing in platinum white armour, armed to the nines with laser rifles and holographic swords. Not a sight he ever expected, at least.

The worst thing is, he doesn't even remember how he _got here_. It hurts to think too much, but the last thing he swears he remembers was touching down on a planet that Coran swore was completely uninhabited. The atmosphere was non-existent, he remembers Coran telling them, nothing intelligent could survive here without obvious proof. Then darkness, a hint of pain that makes his skin crawl, and finally waking up where he is right now, in a cell so white it hurt his eyes and a face full of Minotaur snout.

"Tell us about Voltron," the Minotaur instructs, not a hint of emotion in his voice. But Lance is still kicking, still awake and unharmed - for now, at least - and there's no way he's going to give in that easily.

"Hey, hey, that isn't how this works," he argues, plastering on a confident smirk as the Minotaur grumbles and takes a step back, "I did something for you, you do something for me - tit for tat, y'know?"

This, usually, never works, getting him a light beating if he's lucky with most hostage situations, but it's worth a shot-

The Minotaur shrugs, and shares a glance with its teammates whilst Lance's heart stops in his chest. It's reaching for something, probably a weapon, and he shuts his eyes again, braces for a baton to the stomach or a gun to his head, or-

There's a click of keys, and he drops to the floor with a gasp that nearly bursts his lungs, arms dropping to his sides almost immediately. It hurts, _god it hurts so much_, but it's a satisfying pain; the pins and needles in his arms suggest blood flow is returning, and he's never been more thankful that he bothered to listen to medic classes at the Garrison.

He glances up, a thank you on his tongue, before the Minotaur huffs again. From his new position on the floor, he got a full view; maybe it's just the new angle but these things are _huge, _at least Shiro's height of fur and solid muscle.

"Tit for tat," the Minotaur repeats, and he's kinda' shocked that this race knew what he meant by that, "Voltron."

Oh, that meant he actually had to give some information now, huh.

"I don't know what I can tell you," Lance says with an awkward grin, "it's a big robot made of five smaller robots, and it's designed to kick ass-"

"Your _plans_," it interrupts, and there's a hint of annoyance to its voice that most definitely was not there before, "what are your plans?"

Lance shrugs, folding his arms into his chest in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Other than saving the universe from tyranny and oppression, I can't tell you - top secret, sorry-"

The Minotaur jerks, and Lance feels his entire body tense for impact-

But nothing. There's still nothing. Lance has talked back, joked, liberally sprinkled enough sarcasm into his answers that any usual kidnapper would probably have beat him to a pulp for, but this guy seems intent on not laying a finger on him.

"Alright," the Minotaur responds, and turns on its heel to march out of the room, "leave him."

The guards follow, and just like that, Lance is alone.

* * *

Surprisingly, this place is more like an enforced hotel stay than a kidnapping. He's given as much water as he needs, a tray full of food through a hatch on the door three times a day, and a relatively comfortable bed that appeared out of the wall after his captors first left him. They even keep him entertained, passing him notebooks of sudoku-like puzzles that drive him insane, but are much more exciting then staring at a sterile wall all day. Once a day - or what he assumes is once a day, he doesn't really have much of a track on time anymore - the same Minotaur captain comes in and asks the same question. It's a weird routine, but it's one that Lance can't complain about; he's not starved, not dehydrated, not hurt. He's pissing the captain off, admittedly, but everyday that Lance is kept unharmed is an extra day for his team to find him.

_They will find you_, he repeats to himself at night, curled up on the mattress with his arms tight around his knees; he's been here at least a week by his own count, but that might be off seeing as he seems to be spending a lot of time asleep these days. Their day-night cycle is shorter than a humans, so it's hard to keep track, particularly without anything permanent to keep his notes on.

Sure, it's easily the best kidnapping he's ever been part of, but now it's starting to drag. The silence of the cell reminds him of the friendly banter he's probably missing, the jokes and jeers that make his face hurt and his stomach ache. He never thought he'd be admitting this, but he misses _food goo_ of all things, the odd water filtration aftertaste and the reassuring hum of lion and machine.

_Maybe they don't even miss you_, something in his brain suggests, and his eyes fly open, wide and shocked, at the thought, _Allura could pilot Blue, no problem, it's not exactly like you're a necessary part._

Hunk would miss him, that's the thought he chooses to reassure himself with. Hopefully, Hunk's missing him like he's missing Hunk, missing the warm body next to him in bed and taste-testing weird Alien food together. Maybe he's missing Lance's jokes, or their spa days, or exploring planets together like they did with that mermaid planet.

Maybe he's not missing him at all, Lance dares to think, and quickly buries that thought in amongst all the rest.

He doesn't sleep very well that night.

* * *

It's another week or so of repetition before something finally happens.

The day starts as normal. The tray of food - bread roll, unidentifiable meat, and some fruit that tastes like custard - gets pushed through the door, Lance does another sudoku puzzle, and the captain attempts to question him about Voltron. He's relaxing on the mattress, mentally naming as many countries in the world as he can in an attempt to fall asleep when something changes.

The first change is that the lights flick off suddenly. Even with the weird cycle of time, he's only had one meal today, so there's no way it can be night time yet. There's not even any light in the room; even the light from the guard positions has been shut off, to the point where Lance can't see his hand in front of him. There's no change between him opening his eyes and closing his eyes, and that only terrifies him a little bit.

Then there's the footsteps, big and heavy like they were when he first woke up here. It's the Captain, without a shadow of a doubt, but Lance can't _see _him to make a quip, too busy reeling from the loss of light to fight. He's confused, disoriented; it feels like the room is spinning around him but he has no visuals to back up his mind, and he wants to throw up. Before he gets the chance though, he's pulled up by hands around his arms and shoulders, strong to the point where he can't struggle, before he's completely lifted. Combined with the spinning feeling, he feels like he's floating, only the pressure of the hands keeping him tethered. He's struggling to keep one thought in his head before it flies off, and the only thing he realises is that he's been well and truly drugged.

They don't go far, or at least Lance doesn't think they do, before he's put down. He's placed gently on what feels like a dentist's chair, plush and supportive, but he's tightly strapped in by his wrists, ankles, and waist before he can relax. His armour is gone, he realises, so there's nothing to stop them. A final strap is secured around the top of his head, and he realises that he really can't breathe.

"Hey, I thought we were pals," he jokes weakly, desperately listening for where he thought the Captain was, "pals don't strap pals into weird chairs and drug them, at least not without consent-"

Before he can finish, he's struck across the cheek. The noise echoes, and Lance tastes blood in his mouth before the stinging can truly settle in.

"Do you want a safe word-?"

Another strike, this time on his other cheek, and all Lance can do is swallow thickly and ignore the metallic aftertaste.

"You talk too much, Paladin," someone says - it sounds like the Captain, but he's not sure - and the voice seems to echo around him, speaking from both sides at once.

"Yeah, sorry," Lance replies with a smirk, but this time he definitely can't hide how fake it is, "you picked the chatty one I'm afraid - should've picked Keith if you wanted stoic silence, he's much better at that than me."

The Captain huffs, and there's a clatter of what sounds like a metal tray distinctly coming closer.

"You gonna' tell me what we're doing here or nah?" Lance asks - practically shouts, seeing as he can't tell how close or far away his captors are, "like I'm loving the mystery but I'd like to be in on it as well - FOMO, y'know?"

Before he can open his mouth to breathe, there's a sudden hand over his face, big palm secured over his lips. He can't breathe at all, unable to stop the terror that's made it's way into his bloodstream as the hand clamps down, adding leather and musk to the already bloody taste in his mouth.

He attempts to scream, but he's cut off by two pinpricks in his neck, either side of his Adam's apple.

Before he can argue, he sleeps.

* * *

_There's images flashing before his eyes._

_Earth, to start with. Familiar sights of Garrison classrooms, lessons and test cockpits that he would inevitably crash. The warmth of his mother's hugs and that boyish crush that came with glancing at the new engineer boy over the canteen. Embarrassing encounters with Shirogane before he left for Kerberos, and the helplessness that came with watching a class fight._

_Then it jumps to the shack, to helping Shiro out of the quarantine, to meeting Keith and again and chasing across stretches of desert. To curling up with Hunk and Pidge on a sofa that Keith showed them how to convert, a ball of unease and fear that was only binded by their support for each other. Blue appears, regal and powerful, and he can't ignore the thrum of hope that comes from the sight._

** _What do they want with my memories-_ **

_He's thrown back into the castle, in armour and familiar bayard in his hand. It's a training exercise that they've completed, and he looks around to see the biggest smiles he's ever seen from his teammates. For once, Shiro looks proud of him, Keith is actually grinning for once, Pidge isn't ready to kill him. Hunk's laced their hands together and he's squeezing morse code - god knows what it means, Lance _ _can't focus right now_ _, but the gesture is cute nonetheless._

_Then the scene changes. It's the same, same layout, same positioning, but this time they've failed, Lance just knows it. No one is smiling. Shiro looks disappointed, Lance can see the coldness of his eyes, and Keith is positively glowering. Hunk isn't even near him, purposely ignoring him, and Pidge's bayard is crackling with energy. It's his fault - he can't remember what he did but it's his fault, his fault, his fault his fault hisfault hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthis-_

_It's tactics now, Shiro and Allura's planning sessions on how best to curb the empire, and Lance wants to scream. He knows _ ** _they're _ ** _watching, learning, seeing all the best ways to predict and undermine Voltron, and he wants to look away but he can't. There's something that feels like a hand on his head, forcing him to stare forwards and spill the secrets of his team as Shiro discusses lion formations and secret planet advantages._

_It's schematics of the Castle, of each lion, rather than memories now. Facts about their advantages and disadvantages; Red is fast but does little damage, Yellow is a tank but is big and lumbering, Green has shielding to make up for its lack of built-in defences. Shiro's PTSD affects him badly at night when there's nothing to distract him, Pidge is reckless when it comes to matters of her family, Keith is just reckless full stop. Hunk is nervous and second guesses most of his actions, Allura can't deal with any mention of Altea._

_Lance talks too much. Lance gets himself into bad situations and puts everyone at risk. Lance is cocky._

_He's surrounded by darkness, and he falls._

* * *

He wakes up to the hum of the castle.

At first, he doubts its real; he's been listening to the castle in the onslaught of thoughts and memories, and this sounds exactly like it did before. The air feels real in his lungs as he gasps for breath, and the ache of his dehydrated throat feels real as well, but he's not sure. He's not even sure how to tell, what litmus test to use to distinguish between memory and reality, and resorts to using the cold metal of the healing pod to tell him that he's truly awake.

So, they found him.

Despite this, there's no one else in the room. It's quiet, almost maddeningly so, but judging from the dimmed lighting it's the middle of the night, so he can't really be angry. His legs ache, but he's not really in pain, so what's holding him back from getting to his own room? He's a strong Paladin of Voltron, who's just survived two weeks of kidnapping - a little walk isn't gonna' be the death of him.

At least, that's what he thinks before he attempts to walk without clinging to the side of the pod. The moment he takes a full step, his leg practically crumples beneath him; his knee must've given way since before he can register it, he's on the floor, face full of Altean laminate and dust. And oh God, _it hurts_, shooting daggers of pain up his legs, like pins and needles if the needles were more like rapiers, and he wants to _scream_-

But he can't.

He opens his mouth, breathes in, prepares to scream and shout until he wakes the whole castle up, but nothing comes out. No sound, no screech, not even the barest growls of a sore throat. There's literally nothing there, nothing to stop the pain-overriding spike of panic that makes his heart race and vision to narrow. He tries vowel sounds, tries consonants, forms each sound with his mouth but no, just the hiss of escaping air and the catch of his tongue against his teeth.

He can't breathe again, there's something clamped over his mouth. Maybe it's the Captain's hand, whatever it is is heavy and close and he _can't breathe _as he scoots back, pressing to the side of the pod as one hand flies to his throat. What is he if he can't talk? He can't communicate with the team - most of their in mission communications are audio based, and in the lions he's gonna' have to keep both hands on the control sticks.

A Paladin who can't talk, piloting one fifth of a giant robot who's entire gimmick is built on communication and friendship.

He barely hears the door open over the harsh hiss of his own breath, but before he can react there's someone squatting in front of him. His vision turns brown and yellow and warm, and almost just like that, the static begins to tune out.

"-ou okay? Lance, can you hear me?"

Lance nods once, forcing himself to swallow thickly as he looks up at Hunk before him. There's a hand before him, one that he knows will be gentle rather than rough, and he reaches out, allowing large fingers to slowly slot between his own.

"Brilliant," Hunk says, and his immediate smile brings a warmth to Lance's chest that he thought he would never experience again, "you should eat something, hon-"

Lance shakes his head. He wants to sleep, and he wants Hunk.

"Okay, fine," Hunk caves, and Lance is slightly embarrassed that he managed to persuade his boyfriend so easily, "but don't tell Shiro, alright?"

Lance opens his mouth to speak, to snark, but once again, nothing comes out, so he grins, latching onto Hunk's bicep to pull himself up. His legs threaten to give way underneath him, but he shuts his eyes and ignores the nausea.

Before the floor gives way completely.

His eyes fly open, wide and shocked, and he flails his arms to hold something, _anything. _Instead, they loop helplessly around Hunk's neck, and that's when he realises that he didn't actually trip at all; hunk just decided to pick him up.

"Sorry," Hunk says quietly, jostling Lance into a more comfortable position as he makes his way down the corridor, "you looked like you were going to faint."

Lance wants to laugh, say thank you and place a kiss into his cheek, but instead he presses his face into the crook of Hunk's neck, nuzzling in and taking in that smell of alien soap and that body wash Hunk picked up at the last swap moon. It's grounding, associated with safety and love, and he never realised how much he missed it.

The next thing he knows, Hunk's laying him into a plush bed, hands going to Lance's back to begin undoing the medical suit. He rolls over happily to help, shimmying out of the spandex-like material as Hunk works it over his shoulders, revealing smooth skin and muscles and a distinct lack of scars. The soft scratch of Altean cotton is tugged over his legs and arms, and soon Hunk is relaxing next to him, pressing his entire body up against Lance's. Instantly, the stress of waking up from the pod bleeds out of him; he can practically feel each muscle relax one by one as Hunk wraps his arms around Lance's middle, warm hands burrowing under Lance's shirt and splaying against his middle.

"I'm so glad you're back," Hunk whispers into his hair, loud but soft in the silence of the bedroom, "it was awful without you - never leave again, okay?"

Lance nods vigorously - or at least as vigorously as he can in his incredibly lethargic state - and the last thing he's aware of before he blacks out is Hunk's lips against his head.

* * *

For once, he isn't alone when he wakes up.

He's practically draped over Hunk like a blanket, legs tangled like shoelaces with the sheet, and really, being honest, he doesn't want to open his eyes. He's warm and comfy where he is, face still pressed into Hunk's neck, and some tired thought wishes he could stay there forever.

At least until-

"Lance?" A slurred voice asks, "you awake?"

He nods slowly, stretching his legs before burrowing back into the warmth.

"Nice," Hunk answers, and Lance can imagine his grin - cute, bashful, caring, "you feel like moving?"

Lance shakes his head cheekily, and he takes in the feeling of Hunk's laugh reverberating through his chest. Before Hunk can answer though, Lance's stomach answers for him, grumbling loudly, and Hunk stifles a laugh even bigger than the last one.

"C'mon, sounds like someone needs some food," Hunk snarks, and Lance rolls his eyes, not wanting to admit that his boyfriend is, as usual, right, "what do you want? I'll make you anything, I think- you know you deserve it after all this."

That's a rare offer really; Lance's tastes are usually rich and specific, and Hunk really hates making the space french toast that Lance favours. It might have something to do with the fact the fact that space bread is really hard to come by, since most races, no matter how technological, have never heard of yeast. He opens his mouth to answer, breathes in, and-

Oh fuck.

Oh shit.

This isn't a yes-no question.

His mouth shuts with an audible click, eyes flying open as he hears Hunk's concerned hum. Hands fly to his throat, and sure enough, there's two raised pimples on either side of his neck; that wasn't some horrific dream, nor some lasting pod effect. He really, utterly, cannot speak.

"Hon?" Hunk asks immediately, sitting up in bed until him and Lance are practically face to face, "what's wrong?"

His hands fly to Lance's biceps, but they don't grip tightly, instead rubbing smooth circles into his skin; Lance breathes immediately, but his hands never leave his neck, not until Hunk is counting his breaths and the iron clamps leave his lungs.

"Did they- did they do something to you?" Hunk guesses once the wildness leaves Lance's eyes, "something to do with your neck?"

Lance nods once, refusing to reach his gaze.

"Right okay, yes-no questions only," Hunk notes aloud, and there's something about Hunk's mental notes that makes Lance smile for the first time - no matter how far they go from Earth, no matter what happens to them, Hunk never changes, "is it something to do with eating - since you refused food last night, and you freaked out this morning?"

Lance shakes his head - honestly he would kill for food right now.

Hunk frowns in thought. "Breathing? Can you sometimes not breathe properly?"

Another shake of his head - Lance can't breathe properly, but that's panic, not alien intervention.

"It's near your Adam's apple - voice box, can you not talk?"

Finally, Lance nods, and it feels like a small weight has been pulled off his shoulders. Hunk grimaces, one thumb delicately smoothing over the bumps on Lance's neck, and Lance shudders at the touch.

"Shit, sorry-" Hunk starts, before Lance visibly relaxes, tilting his head up to let him have a better look, "I- I think we should tell Coran about this; who knows, it might be a venom or implant or something."

Lance nods slowly; he hasn't really thought about what was causing it yet, hasn't got round to it past the panic of _fuck I can't talk_. He can still breathe, and can still swallow and not choke on his own spit, so that suggests there's nothing fundamentally wrong with his voice box.

Except for the lack of sound, which makes _total sense._

He wishes he had paid more attention to AP Biology.

Finally, it's Hunk that tugs him to his feet, only letting go to grab Lance's robe off the coat hook on the back of the door. There's a familiarity to this that he secretly loves, of tying the belt up tightly as Hunk slips his arm around his waist, and the fact that he still does it, even in his anxious state, is sweet.

"We'll get some food as well," he hears Hunk mutter as they wander down the corridors towards the communal dining room, "you need it."

When the doors get closer something in Lance decides to freeze. He's gonna' have to explain his situation - or at least sign it as best he can - to the whole team, and then have to deal with their reaction. He's gonna' be told by Allura that he isn't fit to be a Paladin anymore, and by Shiro that he's gonna' have to take time off training. Keith and Pidge will probably be over the moon that he won't be able to snark and argue, and that hits even closer to home then before-

"Hon?" Hunk suddenly asks, suddenly completely overtaking Lance's vision, "what's wrong?"

Lance shakes his head. They don't have time for this.

"C'mon, I'm not accepting that," Hunk says with a sigh, but it's not one of exasperation, "morse it out?"

Back at the Garrison, they used to communicate in morse code, tapping small messages to each other on the metal frame of the beds after lights out. It's slow, but sweet, and Lance can't help the small smile that grows on his face as Hunk holds out his hand.

He thinks, and taps.

_USELESS?_

"Dude, I- hell _no_," Hunk replies immediately, springing back as if he had been shocked, "literally no one is gonna' think that - it's a setback, but, like, everything is since our plans are never perfect-"

He stops, running one hand down his face whilst the other takes Lance's hand in, slotting their fingers together quickly. "Remember that time when Pidge blew her hearing for a week?"

Lance nods slowly. That was actually a pretty fun week; Shiro modified the training so none of them could rely on their hearing at all, and although it was a learning curve, he's proud to say he came out of it with a new skill.

He'll ask her for an ASL refresher. Might come in handy soon.

"It's kinda' like that," Hunk explains, "did anyone ever tell her that she was useless?"

He's forced to slowly shake his head.

But Pidge is smart, builds important tech and upgrades the lions. She's useful outside of missions-

"You're spiralling again, love," Hunk states, gently cupping Lance's face, "the sooner you get in there, the sooner you can stop thinking about it."

He loves Hunk dearly, but he hates it when he's right.

He smirks and rolls his eyes, which finally pulls a laugh from Hunk, something he didn't realise he missed as much as he did, and pulls up one hand to tap his own lips.

"Ugh, fine," Hunk laughs, before closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together softly. It's brief, and Hunk still tastes distinctly of morning breath, but it's all Lance needs right now.

"I'm right beside you," Hunk says slowly, pulling back only to press his forehead to Lance's, "you ready?"

Lance nods, stealing one final kiss before he turns to face the doors.

Surprisingly, once he's in there, it's all fine.

No one says he's useless, no one frets about whether or not he can still pilot. Instead, Shiro - literally, _Shiro_ \- stands up and pulls him into a tight hug before Lance can even move. He even heard Keith say he was glad Lance was back, which Lance is pretty sure was a hallucination.

"C'mon, sit down," Pidge instructs once Shiro finally lets him go, pointing to the two free chairs between her and Shiro, "we're on leftovers this morning, and trust me, they're _good."_

A bowl containing some stew-looking stuff is plonked in front of him, and he can't stop before he's inhaled half the bowl.

"So, fit and healthy again, eh?" He hears Coran comment from the other side of the table, and he freezes in his seat, "considering how long you were in there, you've probably had issues you didn't know you had healed-"

He's cut off by _something_, and quick glance to his right tells Lance that it's Hunk's face, a complete picture of concern.

Slowly, he sets the spork down, and takes Hunk's hand under the table. He's gonna' have to come clean.

"Lance?" Shiro asks gently, as if speaking to a frightened animal, "what's wrong? You haven't said a word since you got here."

He taps the back of Hunk's hand.

_PLEASE?_

"We, uh, we think the aliens did something do him," Hunk starts, and Lance notices that his eyes are fixed on him, "he, well- he can't talk? And we can't figure out why, like we've got some theories, but-"

"Ugh, finally," Pidge says with a laugh, "I'm looking forward to a quiet week then-"

She's cut off by Keith elbowing her in the side.

"What do you mean?" Keith asks once he's done rolling his eyes at Pidge, "not being able to talk is pretty serious - this entire operation relies on communication."

_And there it is._

"We'll work with it," Shiro calmly instructs, placing his own spork on the table and looking distinctly like he's ignoring the urge to shout, "and anyway, not being able to talk might improve our stealth ops."

Pidge opens her mouth to complain, before-

"Pidge, weren't you the one who damaged both your eardrums for a week after fiddling with an EMP?" Hunk suddenly snaps, and Lance glances up to see his eyes narrowed. Almost immediately, Pidge goes red and returns to cleaning her bowl.

"Lance," Allura chimes in, sighing before shooting him a tired smile, "I'll find you a datapad whilst Coran looks at your throat - Father once made a fairly good text-to-speech application."

Lance grins and nods; text-to-speech would be clunky and slow, but it's better than morse code tapping a whole conversation and having to have Hunk translate.

"Now, eat up," Coran instructs, "the sooner you finish that, the sooner we can see what's wrong with you, my boy."

Under the table, Hunk wrapped his hand around Lance's, strong and supportive as Lance forced himself to take his first breath in what felt like ages.

He'd be okay.

* * *

He had been sat in the Infirmary for what felt like hours before Coran finally gave him an answer.

"It looks - possibly - like a poison," Coran muses, and Lance relaxes back into the medical bed, "it's pulling up some interesting blood results and brain scans, so I think that's the safest bet."

Lance cocks his head in confusion, tapping quickly on the tablet in his lap. "_What about an anti-venom?"_

At least, he's hopeful until Coran sighs, turning back to the main computer and flicking through several pages of Altean text. "The problem is, that it's not a poison I recognise; those buggers who caught you were crafty alright, this is probably specifically synthesised."

"_What about a treatment?"_

Coran's face twists, and Lance's stomach drops.

"Without the original poison, there's not much I can do," Coran finally says, and the reluctance in his voice is audible, "I'm afraid the most likely course of action is for you to wait it out, whilst we keep a close eye on you for any secondary symptoms."

At this point, even swallowing felt impossible. So what was he supposed to do? Sit there and pretend everything was alright, with an unknown poison in his blood that might kill him?

"Those _bastards_," Hunk mutters, and Lance glances over to see his face twisted and fists clenched at his sides.

_"So this isn't going to be getting better soon?" _Lance types, cringing through the awful intonation of the programme, and Coran grimaces sadly.

"Probably not I'm afraid," he admits, finally walking over to place a hand on Lance's shoulder, "Shiro wanted you on rest break for a while, but seeing as you've already come out the pod, Allura wants you back on Paladin duties."

Lance quirks a smile. _"No rest for the wicked."_

Hunk shoots him a sympathetic look. "Look man, we're glad you're back," he suggests, sitting down next to Lance and wrapping one hand around Lance's free one, "it's been a hard month without, hasn't been the same-"

_"A month?"_

"Yeah." There's a horrific sadness in Hunk's voice, one that makes Lance's blood boil with rage. Forget him and his fucked voice box, he wants to go and murder that Captain himself for making Hunk that hurt. "We think you were out for most of it though."

Lance frowns, finally turning to face Hunk. _"Most of what?"_

"Lance, are you sure?" Hunk immediately asks, "I- you've just woken up, maybe take a break from it, y'know-"

_"Hunk," _Lance argues, aware of his heart racing; he's doesn't remember much of his time, other than alien sudokus and being held up by his wrists for ages, _"please tell me."_

Hunk sighs; it's really obvious he doesn't want to tell him, but Lance _needs _to know-

"We only know half of it," Hunk explains, turning away to fiddle with his hands in his lap, "they had some kind of thought-reading machine, we think they were using you to learn Voltron's weaknesses or something - they've even made you crack Galra encryptions while they had you there."

So he had put them all at risk. Nice, smart move.

_"So we should be expecting an attack."_

"No," Hunk says simply, "I- we, we got rid of the problem, Pidge wiped their databases, hacked the system, y'know?"

_"And the Captain?"_

"Dead," Hunk replies a little too quickly for Lance's liking, "uh, Shiro let me..."

He trails off, obviously uncomfortable to admit it. Lance has only seen Hunk angry to the point of violence twice; once on the Weblum, and when he was hypnotised by the mermaids. Both of them were absolutely terrifying, only the former being even slightly thrilling, and the idea that _Lance _could push him that far, well-

It didn't really bare thinking about.

Lance quickly types a sentence, before reaching over to loop their hands together once more. _"You didn't have to do that."_

"I did, though," Hunk says simply, still refusing to look over, "if you had seen me, laid out on a table the way that you had been, wouldn't you have done it?"

It's an interesting question, one that scares him shitless.

"So, they're not a threat anymore, is what I'm tryin' to say," Hunk explains, finally, _finally_, giving Lance's hand a squeeze, "we're safe, you're okay."

Lance abandons the tablet now, practically clambering into Hunk's lap. He wraps his arms around Hunk's neck, practically straddling his legs in an attempt to get close to the warmth he didn't realise he had missed so badly. On his shoulder, he could feel wetness; Hunk's crying, _Hunk's crying_, and that pushes Lance to embrace him tighter, hold him closer, never let go until the universe physically pulled them apart once again. Big hands finally secured around his waist, warm and tight and strong and _safe, _and what he's fairly sure is a kiss is laid on the cotton of his shoulder, filling him with love.

"Don't leave," he hears Hunk splutter out, voice muffled by material and shoulder, "I- seeing you on that table, I-"

He trails off, and Lance begins stroking one hand up the ridges of his spine in an attempt to calm his boyfriend's racing breath.

_WON'T, _Lance taps out against his back, _NEVER._

Then a hand on his own back, steady and familiar, taps in reply. _LUV U._

_LUV U 2._

They'll survive.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comments much appreciated!!! Thank u all very much!


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